“Don't worry about it.” It was all he could do not to snarl at him.

This assignment had been grueling. One of those times when nothing went right. It happened, but this time it had grated on Rafe's nerves so much that he'd come close to losing his cool with a panhandling teen the day before. Normally, he was more amused than anything else with the ploys the kids used, but not lately. He was just . . . tired. Tired of not having roots, tired of not having family, tired of going from one place to the next and never having any permanency at all.

Sure, he was a member of the North American Panther Pride. He could stay there forever and never leave again if that was what he wanted, but it wasn't. As a travel journalist, he'd been everywhere at least once and lived to write about it. He'd gotten caught in riots, pinned down in war zones, stranded in the desert, and lost at sea. He'd seen all Seven Wonders of the World, hiked through rainforests with pygmies, ridden camels with Bedouin tribes, and seen sunrises on mountaintops that would make God Himself weep from the beauty of it.

It had been one hell of a life so far, and he'd loved every minute of it, but something had been riding him lately. A restlessness he couldn't understand. It used to be he got antsy staying in one place too long, and now the constant travel frayed his nerves. He'd cut his last trip short to come back to the Pride for a while. Some instinct told him he needed to be there, though he couldn't put his finger on why. Maybe staying put for a month or two would do him good. It couldn't hurt, and might let him shake whatever it was that was eating at him. He could catch up with old friends, get some writing done and thus make his editors happy at the same time.

He wove his way through the crowded airport, leaving the old man far behind. The smell and sound of so many people was an assault to sensitive Panther ears. The overhead speaker blared security warnings, and it was something he'd seen and experienced so many times it battered at his fatigued mind.

Hitching his backpack higher on shoulder, he rode the escalator down to the luggage claim where he would meet the twins.

“Rafael!” Ric's voice caught his lagging attention, and he turned to shake the man's hand. A wide smile crossed both their faces and Ric slapped his shoulder.

Diego wrapped him up in an exuberant bear hug. “Hey, Rafe! How've you been, man? What happened to your clothes?”

“Not bad, and I'll tell you about it later.” The weariness that had ridden him for so long hit him again. “I'm ready to get home and catch some Zs, though.”

The twins glanced at each other and Ric's mouth tightened. Diego met Rafe's gaze. “That's going to have to wait for a few minutes. We have another pick up.”

“Oh? Who?” The terse reaction--so unlike the energetic man--made curiosity rear its head.

After a long moment, Ric answered. “We have a Panther coming in on a flight from Tokyo.”

Rafe waited a beat, expecting more information. The twins' uncharacteristic reticence definitely had his attention. “Someone from Ciri's family, perhaps?”

“No. The heir to the Spanish Pride.” A muscle in Diego's jaw ticked. “Fernando Garcia's daughter. Enrique Garcia's sister. Teresa.”

“Shit.” There was no other word he could put to the concept. There was bad blood between the European and North American Prides. Hell, there wasn't a lot of love lost between the European and African Prides either, and it all came down to one man.

Enrique Garcia.